Fly Me to Brazil
by Nancy Kaminski
Summary: Sequel to "Summer Samba." The romantic interlude continues--in Rio de Janiero.


=============================  
Fly Me to Brazil  
A Sequel to "Summer Samba"  
by Nancy Kaminski  
(c) August 1997  
=============================  
  
This story was written as a birthday present for Kathy Whelton. She received her  
present at the Gerthering G3 (along with hugs from the Real Article! Lucky  
girl!) and has given me permission to post it to the list.  
  
A note of explanation: For those of you who didn't read "Summer Samba," Natalie  
finds that Nick likes samba music; he dances her into a daze in the loft to the  
songs of Astrud Gilberto, and then invites her to a nice place where they play  
live samba music under the stars. Does she want to go there? Of course she does-  
only hitch being is that the nice place is in Rio de Janiero...  
  
Warning! Unmitigated mush and romance worthy of a 1930s musical ahead! Also a  
kiss, an embrace, a little singing... but no sex. Darn.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Silver jet take me  
I'm all set, take me  
Through the sky  
Fly me to his side  
Fly me where the air of Rio sings  
All my hopes ride on your wings.  
  
Make this trip nonstop  
Like my heart, nonstop  
Bring me where he is  
Help my heart be his  
Help us find what waits at the end of the sky  
So fly me to Brazil.  
  
  
When Natalie got back to her apartment from Nick's loft, she dialed his number.  
She was filled with sudden doubts. Did she really want to fly off with him on  
the spur of the moment? Had their relationship progressed that far, after being  
stalled for so long? She nervously twisted the phone cord while she waited for  
him to answer.  
  
"It's your nickel!"  
  
Natalie burst out laughing at the unexpected greeting. "Nick! What's gotten into  
you? You sound like Schanke!"  
  
He chuckled. "Maybe it's because I'm going on vacation." His voice turned  
serious. "Unless you're having second thoughts, that is." His disappointment was  
palpable.  
  
"I guess I was just checking to make sure you were serious," she answered. "I  
mean, it's just so crazy, running off to Rio de Janeiro on a whim."  
  
"Well, maybe I'm feeling a little whimsical. I want to go, do you?" he asked  
cautiously.  
  
She blew out a breath and made up her mind. "Yes, I guess I'm feeling a little  
whimsical, too. When do we leave?"  
  
She could hear the smile in his voice. "This afternoon, at five o'clock. Meet me  
at Pierson International-go to the business jet gate, and find the Silver Sky  
Air hangar."  
  
"Were you serious about me buying stuff down there? I don't really have any  
samba dresses."  
  
"I'll turn you loose with a credit card---do as much damage as you want. How's  
that?"  
  
Natalie put aside her misgivings for the moment and sighed. "A material girl's  
dream come true. Okay, even though Grandma warned me about accepting expensive  
gifts from men, she never mentioned anything about accepting them from undead  
patients. I'm going to consider this a research fee."  
  
"Deal. See you this afternoon. Bye." He hung up before she could ask him how he  
was going to get to the airport in the daytime. Even though it was January, and  
the sun set at four-thirty, he would still have to cope with waning daylight.  
  
Oh, well. She gave a mental shrug. He's a big boy, and knows how to avoid  
spontaneous combustion. With that thought, Natalie set about packing the barest  
minimum in a carryall. Nick said she could do some damage, and she was  
determined to do her best.  
  
  
  
Promptly at quarter to five that afternoon Natalie parked her car next to a  
large aluminum-sided hangar with the words 'Silver Sky Air' painted in a  
dramatic white and blue swoosh on the side. She could see men bundled up in  
snowmobile suits doing mysterious things to a sleek bizjet parked on the apron  
outside the big hangar doors.  
  
She rushed through the sub-zero air to the relative warmth of the tiny office  
and looked around quickly---no Nick.  
  
A woman at a battered desk looked up inquiringly. "Yes? Can I help you?"  
  
"Yes," Natalie answered. "I'm Natalie Lambert-I'm supposed to meet Nick---"  
  
"Oh, Mr. de Brabant isn't here yet, but he phoned from his car," the woman  
interrupted her. "He said you were to get on board the plane when you arrived.  
He'll be here in," she consulted her watch, "about five minutes."  
  
De Brabant? she wondered. Well, I suppose a police detective wouldn't be able to  
do this sort of thing, so it's up to one of his other identities to charter a  
plane. Natalie glanced out the frosted window. "Is that the plane?" she asked.  
It was so small...  
  
"Oh, no. Yours is in the hangar. Come this way." She opened a steel door and led  
Natalie into the cavernous hangar.  
  
Gleaming under the fluorescent lighting was a silver Learjet with the letters  
'DBF' in an elegant script emblazoned on the fuselage. The hatch was open, with  
the retractable steps down and waiting for her. Natalie allowed herself to be  
led across the concrete floor towards the stairs, then into the tiny,  
expensively appointed jet that apparently belonged to the de Brabant Foundation.  
  
The interior didn't look like a jet; it looked like a living room-a low, narrow  
one. There was a small sofa and two armchairs around a coffee table, a bar, an  
alcove she assumed was a galley, and a door at the rear that could only be a  
bathroom. The floor was covered with rich, maroon Berber carpeting, and the  
windows were covered with curtains in a thick nubby fabric. The gleam of brass  
and crystal was everywhere. It was amazing.  
  
"Mr. de Brabant will be here shortly," the woman repeated, then left Natalie  
alone.  
  
She put down her carryall, then seated herself in one of the armchairs, bouncing  
experimentally a few times. It was wonderfully comfortable---not at all like a  
regular airline seat. She found the only clue she was on a plane: there was a  
seat belt buried in the depths of the chair.  
  
She got up and started snooping around, poking through the well-stocked galley,  
even daring to peek into the forbidden territory of the curtained-off cockpit.  
  
She was looking over the liquors in the small bar when she heard a rumbling  
sound. Looking out one of the windows she saw the hangar door was opening. She  
watched as a limousine drove in and parked next to the plane. The back windows  
were completely dark---aha, the mystery of how Nick was getting to the airport  
was solved.  
  
Nick got out of the limo and accepted the small suitcase from the driver. Some  
money changed hands, and then he headed for the plane.  
  
Natalie quickly sat down in one of the chairs, crossed her legs, and tried to  
look like traveling on a private jet was an everyday occurrence. She looked up  
when Nick appeared in the doorway. "Hi, 'Mr. de Brabant.'" She quirked an  
eyebrow at him. "Traveling incognito today, are we?"  
  
He smiled and said, "Well, the jet belongs to the Foundation, and the Chairman  
of the Board gets to use it whenever he wants. Since the chairman's name is  
Nicolas de Brabant, that's who I am today."  
  
He reached into his inside breast pocket, produced a Belgian passport and waved  
it in the air. "I have the papers to prove it, too. Got yours?"  
  
Natalie patted her purse. "Yep."  
  
"Oh, and here's your visa. You need one."  
  
She accepted the visa (how had he gotten that so fast?) and tucked it in her  
passport, then indicated the carryall. "And here's my luggage."  
  
Nick eyed the canvas satchel and groaned theatrically. "I think my credit card  
is smoking already."  
  
Natalie looked innocent. "I was just taking you at your word."  
  
Nick glanced out the window. "Here comes the crew. We'll be taking off in about  
fifteen minutes."  
  
Two men and a woman got on board. Nick introduced the pilots--- "Natalie  
Lambert, this is the pilot, Al Campion, and the copilot, Dave Moore." They shook  
hands. "And this is our attendant, Florence Robesh." The women smiled at each  
other. "Florence has been taking care of people on this plane for the last ten  
years."  
  
Florence, a motherly woman in her fifties dressed in a neat blazer, pleated  
slacks and sensible shoes, protested good-naturedly. "Oh, now, Nick. Don't make  
me sound older than I am."  
  
"But Florence, it's true. You've been spoiling me at least that long. And I've  
enjoyed every minute of it." Nick kissed her hand.  
  
Florence laughed and made shooing motions. "Get buckled in, now---Al will be  
taking off in a minute." She looked at Natalie. "You know the drill, don't you?"  
Natalie nodded. "Good. Dinner in an hour, then." She bustled off to the galley.  
  
Two hours later, the Learjet was cruising southward at an altitude of 28,000  
feet at 450 miles per hour. Natalie had just finished a simple but elegant  
dinner that definitely didn't come from the usual airline catering service.  
Nick, as usual, sat back and watched her eat while he sipped at his glass of  
blood mixed with wine.  
  
"Okay, so tell me," Natalie sat back and sighed contentedly. "You don't keep  
this jet on hand just so you can fly down to Rio whenever you want to, do you?"  
  
Nick shook his head. "It belongs to the Foundation, like I said. It's usually  
used for mercy flights, transporting donated organs, that sort of thing. Just  
once in a while, I pull rank and go somewhere." He smiled somewhat sadly. "My  
schedule needs don't usually jibe with regular airline timetables."  
  
Natalie was determined not to let him dive into one of his moods. "Well, now  
that I've got you alone for what, twelve hours? will you let me ask you some  
questions?"  
  
He said guardedly, "What kind of questions?"  
  
In answer she turned to her carryall and retrieved a book. "These kinds of  
questions-what was it like, way back when you were a kid?" She showed him the  
title---it was a Time-Life book, one of a series on the topic of everyday life  
in various periods of history. This one was 'Everyday Life in Medieval Europe.'  
She grinned. "I subscribed to this series just to get this book---and now I want  
a reality check! How close did they get?"  
  
Nick looked a bit relieved that the questioning was on a safe topic---even  
though it was one that he usually avoided. He took the book and started flipping  
through the pages. "Let's sit on the sofa, and you can interrogate me all you  
want," he suggested.  
  
The next two hours passed with Nick and Nat seated companionably next to each  
other, slowly turning the pages of the book and discussing clothing, food,  
bathrooms, and all the other features of Nick's mortal life.  
  
Finally, the constant muted roaring of the jet engines combined with the dinner  
and wine lulled Natalie into drowsiness, and she found herself leaning on Nick's  
shoulder, fighting to stay awake.  
  
"Get some rest," Nick finally said, and he stood up to let Natalie stretch out  
on the sofa. Florence materialized with a blanket, and soon she had drifted off  
into sleep, Nick watching her from across the coffee table.  
  
  
  
Natalie awoke when Nick gently shook her. "Wake up, Nat, we're almost there."  
  
"Whaa?" she mumbled.  
  
"Rio. We're just about there. Time to sit up and get strapped in for the  
landing."  
  
She sat up and stretched. Good grief, she had slept the entire night away. "What  
time is it?" she asked.  
  
Nick looked at his watch. "Five in the morning. We'll be at the hotel by six  
thirty. It depends on how Customs goes."  
  
"Did you sleep?" she asked, eyeing Nick's uncrumpled clothes.  
  
"No, you know me---I'm a night person."  
  
Shaking her head, she prepared for the landing.  
  
  
  
A little over an hour later, she shook her head again, amazed at the power of a  
little money and a personal jet. A Customs official had met the airplane, made a  
perfunctory check of their few belongings, stamped their passports, and  
effusively welcomed Senhor de Brabant and his charming lady to Brazil. He then  
ushered them to the limousine waiting next to the plane, the identical twin to  
the Toronto limo Nick had taken to the airport.  
  
Natalie paused a moment before getting in and inhaled deeply. Even through the  
sharp smell of aviation fuel and rubber that characterized every airport on  
earth, she could detect a hint of ocean and the spicy scent of tropical plants  
in the soft, balmy air. Involuntarily she smiled, and a knot of tension she  
didn't even know was there relaxed. It was going to be a great weekend.  
  
"Well, what do you think?" Nick asked.  
  
Natalie plunked down her carryall on the deeply carpeted floor and surveyed the  
room, hands on her hips. "It'll do." She relented at his worried look and added,  
"It's fabulous, Nick. I feel like royalty, staying in a place like this."  
  
They were in the Presidential Suite of the Hotel Aruanda, located on the most  
exclusive beach on Guanabara Bay. The spacious living room was a symphony of  
understated elegance. There were two equally elegant bedrooms and baths at  
either end of the living room, and a balcony facing the bay that ran the full  
length of the suite. The management had thoughtfully provided an expensive  
bottle of wine and an enormous fruit basket, now waiting for them on the coffee  
table in front of the fireplace.  
  
Nick yawned. "Well, it's time for me to turn in for the day." He opened his  
wallet and fished out a credit card and a folded piece of paper. "Here. Why  
don't you go shopping later on today? The shops on the ground floor of the hotel  
should be perfect for what you need-I think they open at nine." He thought a  
minute. "Go see Senhora Gonzalez at 'Mirador.' She'll take care of you. Oh, and  
tell her we're going to Club Corcovado." He smiled. "That's the samba place.  
She'll know."  
  
At the sight of the proffered credit card Natalie hesitated. "Nick, I know you  
said you'd buy me stuff, and I really didn't bring anything with me...but I have  
my own card, you know. I'll pay for a dress, and whatever. The flight and the  
hotel is more than enough...it's really more than I should accept."  
  
He pressed the card and note into her hand. "Nat, please, let me do this for  
you. It's a research fee, remember? And I really owe you so much. You've worked  
so hard, and even had to compromise your job for me." He held her hands, clasped  
over the card. "It's a small way for me to show you how much I appreciate you.  
Please?" He smiled winningly.  
  
She sighed. "Welll," she hesitated another second, then nodded reluctantly. "All  
right, but don't make it a habit. This is just this once." Natalie looked at the  
card---it was a platinum Visa in his real name. "Sounds like you've had ladies  
go on shopping sprees here before. What's the note?" She looked at it quickly,  
but it was written in Portuguese in Nick's deceptively tidy hand.  
  
"It just lets them know you can use the card. And the reason I know about  
Senhora Gonzalez is because Janette recommends her highly, and she should know."  
  
He went over to Nat and embraced her. Holding her close, he smiled into her eyes  
and said, "Thank you for coming with me. And thank you for accepting this gift.  
It means a lot." He kissed her lightly. "I'll see you late this evening, okay?  
Do you want to go for a moonlight swim?"  
  
She hugged him back, enjoying being so close to him. "Oh, yes, if only to see  
you in swim trunks." She grinned mischievously. "Or do you favor the French  
slingshot approach to swim wear?"  
  
"You'll have to wait until this evening to find out." He kissed her again and  
disappeared into his bedroom for the day.  
  
Nat moved her scanty belongings into her bedroom. She felt grimy after the long  
flight and decided to take a bath and rest a bit before venturing out on her  
shopping trip. She found that the bath attached to her room opulent, like the  
rest of the suite. It looked like someone had ordered every possible fixture  
from a plumber's dream book. She sighed with pleasure and started the bath. Yes,  
it was going to be a great weekend.  
  
  
  
Senhora Gonzalez regarded Natalie thoughtfully, her hand on her chin. "So you go  
to Corcovado tonight? You need a dress, or two, yes? Let me see what is good for  
you..." The elegant, black-haired woman started purposefully going through a  
rack of dresses, murmuring a commentary to herself as she discarded one after  
another. "No...no...hmmmm, perhaps...no....no....yes!"  
  
She held up a dress for Natalie's inspection. It was a rich, jade green with a  
faint pattern in a lighter shade, just enough to give depth to the fine raw  
silk. It was strapless, with subtle gathers at the bodice, knee length, with a  
skirt just full enough to be comfortable to dance in. There was nothing trendy  
about it, the design was as timeless as a Chanel 'little black dress.'  
  
Natalie held the dress before her in front of the full-length mirror. The color  
complimented her chestnut hair and fair skin, and brought a green tint to her  
eyes. "Oh, my," she murmured. She didn't dare look at the price tag, even though  
the price was in reals, not dollars, she knew it would be a large number.  
  
"Go try it on," Senhora Gonzalez urged.  
  
Five minutes later Natalie emerged from the dressing room and presented herself.  
"Is perfect-almost," Senhora Gonzalez announced. She fussed with the fit-shorten  
here, take in there-until Natalie could see the effect in the mirror. "Do you  
like it, Madame?"  
  
It was perfect, she thought. She had never owned anything so beautiful. "Yes,  
very much."  
  
"We will fix and send to your room by four," Senhora Gonzalez said. "Now you  
need shoes, jewelry, handbag, and a wrap. Everything must be right with such a  
dress."  
  
Before she knew it, Natalie had a complete ensemble. The imperious saleslady had  
swept around the shop, recommending these shoes, that necklace, the cream shawl,  
that purse... Natalie's head swam with the choices and she was hard-pressed to  
ignore the costs. She put her foot down at the necklace Senhora Gonzalez  
chose---a 24-karat gold chain set with a square-cut emerald---and opted instead  
for a handsome, but much cheaper, costume piece.  
  
Somehow she also ended up with a bathing suit and casual slacks and top. The  
saleslady gave her a knowing look when she handed over Nick's credit card and  
the note. "It is so nice to have an understanding gentleman friend, no?" she  
said, with a delicately arched eyebrow.  
  
Natalie became uncomfortably aware of how it looked---her rich lover giving her  
carte blanche for a weekend spree---and blushed. "It's not like that," she  
began, then stopped when she saw Senhora Gonzalez' smile widen. How could she  
explain her relationship with Nick in one sentence? And then she reflected, why  
should she bother? She would never be here again, and what the shopkeepers or  
the hotel staff thought didn't matter. Let them speculate.  
  
She left the shop clutching three parcels and headed back to the suite. In spite  
of her resolution to ignore what Senhora Gonzalez thought, she imagined she  
could feel those knowing dark eyes burn into her back as she walked across the  
lobby. She squared her shoulders and strode briskly to the elevators. Who cared  
if her reputation was ruined in Rio? It was time to explore.  
  
  
  
Natalie spent several hours investigating the hotel and the area surrounding it.  
She walked down the beach, savoring the warm air and the hypnotic rhythm of the  
waves, envying the lithe, tanned twenty-year-olds playing the age-old game of  
flirtation and seduction in the sand.  
  
She settled finally on the vast patio area just above the beach, finding a  
comfortable chaise longue, and a convenient umbrella table for shade. She fished  
a paperback thriller out of her purse, ordered a salad and drink from the ever-  
present but unobtrusive waiters, and sank back into the cushions with a happy  
sigh. I feel like some sort of celebrity on vacation, she thought. I've got  
everything except the paparazzi. I could get used to this real fast.  
  
With that she dived into John Grisham's latest legal thriller and forgot about  
autopsies, snow, and real life in general.  
  
At five o'clock she awoke with a start and glanced at her watch. "Ohmigosh," she  
exclaimed out loud. "I should be upstairs." Nick should be up by now, she  
thought as she glanced towards the west. The sun was sinking behind the  
mountains, casting long shadows across the city, its white buildings gleaming  
gold in the mellow afternoon light. She gathered up her things and headed  
inside.  
  
Once in the suite, she put her purse down on the living room table and called,  
"Nick? You up yet?"  
  
A muffled voice answered from behind the closed bedroom door. "Yeah, I'll be out  
in a minute."  
  
While she waited she noticed a large Coleman cooler next to the bar. Curious,  
she investigated and found it contained a dozen familiar green wine bottles.  
There was a note balanced on the bottle tops, which said, 'Nicholas, you SOB,  
welcome back! Here's your usual swill. Drop by if you get a chance. My best to J  
and the General. Raoul.' She dropped the lid closed. Obviously the vampire  
welcome wagon had arrived, in the form of a supply of blood, Nick's 'usual  
swill,' from a local resident of the night. Interesting. She wondered who Raoul  
was, and how long they had known each other.  
  
Nick's voice sounded from behind her. "Looks like room service has arrived."  
  
Natalie turned around and gasped in spite of herself. Nick was wearing shorts.  
  
No, not shorts---blue swim trunks and a white short sleeved Sea Island cotton  
shirt, and honest-to-God sandals. And he was vastly enjoying her reaction,  
judging by the laughter in his face.  
  
"Nick," she stuttered, "you've got legs!"  
  
"Always have," he replied complacently. "Want to go for that swim?" He consulted  
his internal clock and continued, "The sun will be down far enough for me to  
stand it in about ten minutes." His voice took on a hopeful tone. "It would be  
nice to catch the tail end of the sunset with you."  
  
She stopped gawping and said, "Sure. I'll just be a minute," and rushed off to  
her bedroom to change into her new swimsuit.  
  
She emerged five minutes later in swimsuit, beach coverup and her old Teva  
sandals. "I'm ready," she announced.  
  
"Let's go, then," Nick said, and ushered her out the door to the elevator.  
  
Natalie couldn't resist commenting. "You know, Nick, you do stick out a bit here  
in the Land of Perpetual Suntan."  
  
"One of the reasons there aren't many of us here," he replied. "People this pale  
are just too noticeable." He gave a slight laugh. "You should have seen me when  
I returned from the Holy Land after two years there. The bits of me that were  
uncovered were brown, and my hair was bleached almost white. Of course, it  
wasn't fashionable then-dark skin was a sign of manual labor and we avoided it  
as much as possible."  
  
"A regular beach boy in chain mail, huh?" she joked.  
  
"Yeah," he said ruefully, "but I didn't get too much surfing in." The elevator  
door opened on the ground floor, and they walked back to the beach doors. Nick  
peered somewhat cautiously outside. "C'mon, it's okay now."  
  
They went down to the practically deserted beach and found a place to leave  
their belongings. As Natalie took off the beach coverup she became acutely aware  
of Nick's interested gaze. She was thankful she had bought what was, for Rio, a  
relatively modest swimsuit, a one-piece navy blue and white tank suit with a  
medium neckline and a deeply scooped back. The legs were cut high enough to make  
her legs seem longer than they really were.  
  
Nick's trunks were brief, but not the minuscule slingshot favored by the bravos  
on the Copacabana. When he removed the soft cotton shirt his pale skin was  
startlingly white in the dim twilight. His physique was lean and hard-muscled,  
the kind earned through long physical labor and not created in a gym. Natalie  
tried to picture him as he had described himself, with dark skin and bleached  
hair, and simply couldn't. I have to admit, she thought to herself, outside of  
looking even paler than a typical winter-vacationing Canadian, he's pretty damn  
attractive.  
  
"Well, do we pass muster?" Nick joked, aware of the mutual examination.  
  
"We are definitely two pasty white Northerners," she replied firmly. "No one  
will ever mistake us for anything but tourists." She kicked off her sandals.  
"Last one in is a rotten egg." With that she dashed down the beach into the warm  
water.  
  
Nick was right behind her. They splashed out as far as they could run, then  
flopped forward into the gentle waves. The water was warm and soothing, the  
sharp tang of salt and ozone freshening the breeze.  
  
As one they both stood up and turned towards the remains of the sunset. The  
cobalt western sky was streaked with reds, pinks, and purples, the mountains  
black silhouettes against it. Behind them the moon was rising, and the first  
stars were shining brightly in the east. Silently they stood side by side and  
watched the colors fade and die.  
  
Nick sighed and murmured longingly, "Some day..."  
  
"None of that, now, we're on vacation, and you promised me a moonlight swim, not  
a moonlight angst session." She splashed water on him, then turned and started  
swimming into deeper water.  
  
"Uh, Nat," Nick called after her.  
  
She stopped and stood up in the chest-deep water. "What?"  
  
"One small thing. I can't swim."  
  
"Get outta here! You can't swim?!?"  
  
He cleared his throat in embarrassment and said, "No. I never learned, and  
after, well you know, it really wasn't necessary. When you don't have to  
breathe, you can't drown. And the flying thing works in water as well as air."  
  
Nat found this supremely funny. The incredibly competent, able-to-do-anything  
Nick couldn't swim. She started laughing.  
  
He made a great show of being affronted. "I may not be able to swim, but I can  
do---" and he disappeared under the water.  
  
Natalie felt arms snake around her knees, and then she was boosted out of the  
water like a human submarine-launched missile. She shot eight feet into the air  
and described a mostly-graceful arc, plummeting headfirst back into the sea. Her  
scream, "Nick, you bast---" was abruptly cut off by the enormous splash.  
  
"---this," Nick finished.  
  
Natalie came up spluttering. Nick was grinning at her, his back to the bay as  
she continued to describe his ancestry in excruciating detail after clearing the  
stinging salt water from her nasal passages. "Just for that," she threatened, "I  
won't warn you about---"  
  
The unusually large wave she had spotted rolling silently towards Nick's turned  
back crested and dumped over directly on his head. He disappeared from view  
again.  
  
"---the really big wave that's coming." Yes, there really was justice in the  
world.  
  
It was Nick's turn to surface spluttering. "Truce, okay?" He swam awkwardly to  
stand next to her. He put his arms around her waist. "Truce, okay?" he repeated  
in a soft voice, and then kissed her.  
  
Natalie smiled and tentatively put her arms around his neck. His cool body felt  
oddly refreshing in the warm water as it pressed against hers. She kissed him  
back, and found herself twining her leg around his.  
  
The rising moonlight glinted and shattered on the restless water and bathed them  
in white light. Nick's hands roamed lightly over her back as he continued to  
shower her mouth and neck with soft, urgent kisses. Natalie barely dared to  
move, unable to believe this was happening. She felt herself relaxing into his  
embrace, a tiny fire bursting into life within her.  
  
"Truce," she whispered, and found herself pressing even closer to him. His knee  
went between her legs, and his hands slowly moved downward, caressing and  
stroking her skin in sensuous circles.  
  
"Oh, Nat," he murmured, and regretfully disengaged himself from her to put a  
safe six inches between them. "It's too much too soon..."  
  
She captured his hands in hers and pulled herself close to him for a final kiss.  
"It's a start, though, isn't it?"  
  
He grasped her hand as if it were a lifeline. "Yes, it's a start." His voice was  
a combination of hope and regret.  
  
They stared into each other's eyes for a long minute, the wish plain on their  
faces. The moment passed. "Oh, well," Natalie finally said, "We've swum. Now,  
shall we dance?"  
  
Nick nodded in agreement, and hand in hand they headed into shore. The samba and  
an evening of allowable togetherness beckoned.  
  
  
  
They returned to their suite and retired to their respective bedrooms and baths.  
After an hour, each had showered and dressed for the evening. Once again they  
met in the living room to offer themselves for inspection.  
  
Natalie voiced the only conclusion possible. "We're gorgeous," she announced.  
"We should be in movies. A James Bond movie, to be precise."  
  
Her new dress had arrived as promised, and it fit her like a second skin,  
falling softly over her hips to just above her knees. The cream open toed  
Italian leather shoes added three inches to her height, so she was almost eye to  
eye with Nick. The faux gold and green enamel necklace shone against her skin,  
and the thin cashmere shawl draped becomingly around her shoulders. Her chestnut  
wavy hair cascaded unimpeded down her back, free for once of its constraining  
ties and combs.  
  
Nick for his part was all tropical elegance in a white tuxedo jacket, black  
dress pants and black bow tie. Black onyx cufflinks showed at his wrists; his  
only other jewelry was a thin gold Patek Phillipe watch, old enough to actually  
need winding by hand. "A Sean Connery one, I hope," he said. "I never cared for  
Roger Moore."  
  
"Definitely Sean Connery," she agreed. "One with a casino in it, and lots of  
gambling, and maybe a car chase through Monaco."  
  
"Okay, I'll see what I can do." He arranged his features in a Connery-esque  
sneer, and said, "My name's Knight. Nick Knight," in a Scottish accent. "Shall  
we go, Miss Moneypenny?"  
  
"Oh, no, not Moneypenny-she never had any fun. How about Honeychile Rider--after  
all, *she* knew how to swim."  
  
"Ouch," he said amiably. "Our limo awaits. I'll keep an eye out for large  
Japanese gentlemen with steel bowler hats."  
  
"Wrong movie. Honeychile was in 'Thunderball...'"  
  
They continued arguing about what characters were in which James Bond movies  
until they arrived at the club. A discreet sign announced 'Corcovado' in brass  
letters. It was a in a lovely old Portuguese style villa close to the bay,  
surrounded by manicured grounds. The scent of tropical flowers was heavy in the  
air, and faintly from within Natalie could here the cool, insistent sounds of  
the samba.  
  
Nick handed Natalie out of the limo and offered her his arm. As they walked in,  
Natalie felt absurdly on display although Nick looked like he went out in  
evening clothes every other night as a matter of course. Which he probably did  
at some time or another, she thought.  
  
They were greeted at the door by the maitre de, and he and Nick had a brief  
conversation in fluid Portuguese. He then led them to a table in a small alcove.  
The table was set with snowy linens, sterling silverware and bone china  
decorated with a single silver band. Candles flickered on the table on either  
side of a discreet riot of tropical flowers.  
  
"Dinner first, Nat," Nick said as the maitre de seated her. "I'm told the chef  
here is excellent."  
  
"Nick, this is gorgeous." She gave in to her urge and unashamedly turned the  
dinner plate over to read the manufacturer's mark. "Royal Doulton! Wow!"  
  
"I can't take you anywhere, can I?" Nick said, covering his face with his hands  
in mock embarrassment.  
  
A wine steward glided up just then with the wine list and handed it to Nick. He  
glanced over it and ordered a bottle of burgundy for himself and looked  
inquiringly across the table. "Would you like the burgundy, or something else?"  
  
"I'll defer to your judgment on wine. I'll probably have beef for dinner, so a  
red will do well."  
  
The wine duly arrived and was pronounced drinkable, Nick going through the wine-  
tasting motions in fine form. Natalie watched him with amusement as he inhaled  
the bouquet after swirling it around in his glass, then sampled a small amount  
with concentration. "Does it really taste good to you?" She had always wondered  
how his kind could drink wine, considering their dislike for all mortal foods.  
  
"Well, it's not great, but it's less offensive than anything else for some  
reason. And the alcohol gives it a bit of a kick." He produced a silver flask.  
"I brought my dinner with me. Excuse me." He drank half the glass the steward  
had poured, then topped it off with the contents of the flask. "Sorry," he said  
apologetically. He knew she didn't care to watch him drink blood.  
  
"It's all right, Nick. If I get to eat, so should you. I promise, no garlic in  
whatever I order."  
  
The waiter arrived with the menus, and Natalie was amused to see hers had no  
prices listed. After some consideration, she ordered a salad, beef rouladen,  
asparagus, and new potatoes.  
  
As she worked on her salad, she asked, "So who's Raoul?"  
  
"Raoul? Oh, he's an old friend. We met in the mid-1800s here in Brazil, when I  
was doing some archaeological work in Central and South America. He owns cattle  
ranches here in Brazil and Argentina. Don't laugh," he added, as he watched the  
grin spread over her face.  
  
"Very convenient for you, though."  
  
"Well, yes, but he's the local supplier here in Rio, much like Janette is back  
home. It's much easier to have these kinds of contacts than taking blood through  
Customs when we travel."  
  
The conversation wandered away from supernatural grocery purveyors. Natalie  
savored her meal, which she assured Nick was more than five star quality, while  
Nick sipped slowly from his glass.  
  
When Natalie refused a dessert and was sipping her own glass of raspberry  
liqueur, Nick stood and held out his hand. "Would you care to dance?"  
  
She put down her glass and took his hand. "Yes." She smiled up at him and felt  
suddenly shy. "I hope I don't embarrass you."  
  
He drew her to her feet. "You could never embarrass me, Natalie. Not in a  
million years." He led her to the dance floor.  
  
Couples were dancing both indoors on the polished parquet dance floor, and  
outside the wall of open French doors on a large, smoothly flagged patio. There  
were beautiful wrought-iron lanterns scattered throughout the gardens  
surrounding the patio, shedding dim golden light on the dancers.  
  
Nick led her outside. "I promised sambas under the stars," he murmured in her  
ear as her took her in his arms and began to move to the strains of the music  
drifting out the French doors.  
  
Just as had happened at Nick's loft not two days ago, Natalie fell under the  
spell of the insistent rhythms of the samba and Nick's strong arms. They glided  
among the other dancers, lost in each other's eyes.  
  
The evening drifted by as the would-be lovers danced the movements of almost-  
innocent seduction. They both knew they couldn't bring the evening to the  
conclusion that anyone watching them would assume. The closeness of the dance,  
the movement of the hips, the slightly desperate clasp of arms and nearness of  
face and heart, the occasional kiss and caress, would have to suffice. It was  
all they had; it was all they could have, at least for the moment.  
  
At two in the morning the evening was waning to a close. A final melody floated  
on the air, Nick and Natalie the last dancers on the patio. Nick quietly sang  
the song in his light baritone, the lyrics meant for Natalie's ears alone:  
  
Quiet nights of quiet stars  
Quiet chords from my guitar  
Floating on the silence that surrounds us  
Quiet thoughts and quiet dreams  
Quiet walks by quiet streams  
And the window that looks out on Corcovado  
Oh, how lovely.  
  
This is where I want to be  
Here with you so close to me  
Until the final flicker of life's ember.  
I, who was lost and lonely  
Believing life was only  
A bitter, tragic joke have found with you  
The meaning of existence, Oh my love.  
  
Silence fell. Nick held Natalie gently and kissed her once again, and said,  
"Don't cry. I'm so happy to be here with you, to grasp whatever joy we can. For  
now this is enough-it's more than enough."  
  
"I'm happy, too, Nick." She wiped the traitorous tear that had trickled from her  
eye. "I just wish that---"  
  
He placed a finger on her lips. "Shhh. Don't wish, just let's live for the  
moment this weekend. And we have another evening before we have to go home.  
Please?"  
  
She smiled tremulously. "One more night. Let's come back here."  
  
He gazed around the now-deserted patio, the staff discreetly waiting for them to  
leave. "Yes, let's come back to this magical place, and make some more dreams to  
keep." He slipped his arm around her waist and they went back through the  
darkened restaurant to their waiting limousine. The quiet stars looked down and  
smiled.  
  
Fin.  
  
Yes, Astrud Gilberto strikes again! Music credits: "Non-Stop to Brazil" by Luiz  
Bonfa-M. Duby-Normal Gimbel. "Corcovado (Quiet Night of Quiet Stars)" by Antonio  
Carlos Jobim-Gene Lees.  
  
  
  



End file.
